


History of the Past, Dreams of the Future

by aristotle_chipotle



Category: Inception (2010), National Treasure (Movies)
Genre: Ben Gates infodumping about history: the thrilling saga, Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Dreamsharing, Humor, Multi, Post-Inception, Treasure Hunting, just some history geeks doing what they do best, tags may change once I figure out where I'm going with this chaos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29789496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aristotle_chipotle/pseuds/aristotle_chipotle
Summary: Ben Gates has a new mission. With more and more clues to a centuries-old mystery being uncovered at the historic Wright House, he has the chance to seek out a treasure that's been nothing but a myth up until this point. But as more of the mystery unravels, it's becoming clear the the Gates family aren't the only ones after the Wright treasure. There are some powerful people against them; people who don't mind playing dirty.Dom Cobb has a new mission. Struggling to break into civilian life again, he takes a small, low-risk job from an anonymous contact. Assemble a team. Find Benjamin Gates. Find out what he knows. But when a simple one-layer dream goes wrong, Dom's team has to make some new alliances and quick judgements. They're swept up in a scheme full of clues, secret codes, and some plans that are definitely not legal.
Relationships: Abigail Chase/Benjamin Franklin Gates, Arthur/Eames (Inception)





	History of the Past, Dreams of the Future

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably going to be about five or six chapters, and I'm still figuring it out, but enjoy! This one's mostly exposition, and we'll get to the good stuff soon.

"Have a good night, Mr. Gates."

Benjamin Gates took his coat off the hook and returned the sentiment. The young intern at the front desk of the research library waved him off with a smile as he pushed open the big glass front doors and stepped out into the cool New York air. The night smelled like melting snow and cigarette smoke, and he was pretty sure he still smelled like musty old paper. It had been a good night for research though. He'd lost himself in hours of papers, journals, and maps. He loved it when that happened.

It was the research library just down the street from the new museum; a convenient walking distance. Sixteen blocks, his shoes splashing puddles as sirens wailed across the city like tired ghosts, and he could see the golden dome of the place, and the brick exterior with the sign lit up for all to see.

_Gates Museum of American History_

The building had cost a fortune, but they had a fortune to spare, and any money in the city's education was money well spent. They had intern programs now, and international visitors interested in seeing their discoveries over the years. " _The Secrets of Our Past_ ," was what they'd titled the IMAX movie they showed in the brand-new theater downtown, with footage from their many dives and expeditions.

It had been a busy few years since their last _real_ treasure hunt, and between museum work, university lectures, travel, and research, he was booked.

But since he'd heard about the Wright House, all that was suddenly on the back-burner.

Maybe it was the fact that it had been so long, and he missed the familiar thrill of a mystery and codes and maps. Maybe this was genuinely the next big thing in historical archaeology, and another great story to tell his college classes.

He'd been at home when they got the news. Abigail was the one who delivered it, as the idly watched a documentary on TV and ate takeout.

"Did you hear? They found a secret panel in the Wright House in Boston, and they uncovered some diaries and papers that he'd hidden away."

Ah, yes. Wesley Wright, the colonial cartographer. Puzzle-maker. Spy. Freemason. The one who'd allegedly hidden away stolen British treasure to support the sons of the revolution, just in case their first attempt at freedom failed. Another diversion, he'd always suspected, like his father told him. Allude to imaginary gold, and the enemy will go looking for imaginary gold.

But the treasure of the Knights' Templar was also "imaginary gold." At least it had been, until the Gates family, Abigail Chase, and Riley Poole had found it.

"In code?" Ben had asked.

"Of course."

Wright was known for his many codes. Some of them still hadn't been cracked. A one had been cracked by Ben himself, when he had a free weekend last April.

"Have they started reading them?"

"They're still in the preservation stage, but once the documents are secure, they'll probably make copies." She spoke with the confidence of someone who'd done it a hundred times. Then, she caught the twinkle in his eye.

"Let me guess," added Abigail. "You want to see those things as soon as they're scanned."

"You can't blame me. It's Wesley Wright, for crying out loud. The man was a genius. Can you imagine what his writing could tell us about life in the colonial era? The war?"

"And you're sure it has nothing to do with the famous Wright treasure?" She smiled mischievously.

"Do you want it to? Because it can."

"Ghost stories, Ben. Tall tales. I don't see you running around looking for Paul Bunyan or Bigfoot."

Ben scoffed. "Actually, do you remember that time I went backpacking in Oregon with Riley? We... weren't just wandering."

"You're kidding."

"I wish I was kidding. We didn't find Bigfoot, by the way. It was Riley's idea, if that makes you feel better."

"You still went," sighed Abigail, rolling her eyes in an expression Ben knew too well. "I'll make some calls."

The copies were housed at the library by the museum, and he'd been paying his nightly visits, decoding and taking notes. Only a few pages in, and it was exciting stuff. Even more so, because it was Wright Postwar Script, the code only Ben had been able to solve, and now here he was _reading_ it, _studying_ it. Wright's codes after the war were increasingly complex all the way up to his peaceful death at his estate in the mid seventeenth century. He'd been a man with time on his hands, and he had games to play. Riddles to write.

Ben's gloved hand fell restlessly on the journal of notes in his pocket.

"Tell me your secrets," he mumbled to himself. "Tell me what you know."

It didn't have to be treasure. There was more to life than treasure. But Ben couldn't deny that treasure was fun.

* * *

"How was your evening with Mr. Wright?" asked Abigail from the kitchen as Ben entered the house, stomping the damp of the streets off his boots. "Anything new?"

"Mostly dates and names of people so far," said Ben. "Friends and family. A couple founding fathers. Don't get your hopes too high. This might just be a recipe book."

"You think he'd code his recipes in Postwar Script?"

"Just sayin'"

Pots and pans clattered in the kitchen where she was throwing together extra dinner. Recently, Riley had been staying over. Ben knew better than to even hint about going after a treasure without Riley.

"The man himself," called Riley lazily from the living room. The TV blared: _not_ a documentary. Another Japanese cartoon Riley had gotten into recently, leeching on their streaming services. Ben was happy for the company, naturally, but still not quite used to turning the corner and seeing anime girls brutally stabbing each other.

"Anything vaguely treasure-like?" Riley asked, adjusting his posture, or lack thereof, on the couch.

"I told you I'd tell you, so you have to be patient. I can only do so much in one night, and this stuff's tricky. Then on top of that I have papers to grade, assignments to hand out, and I'm booked."

"Dude, all you have to do is tell your kids that they get the week off so you can drive down to Boston to try and decipher a secret code in some dead white guy's house that might lead to a few billion dollars in historically significant treasure, and they'll love you. Boom. Five stars on ratemyprofessors.com. I just hacked college for you."

Ben grinned. "I would love to see you try and keep one of my classes under control."

"Say the word, sweetheart. I totally could. You'd be embarrassed at how well I can professor."

"That's most _definitely_ not a verb, Riley," came the tired reprimand from the kitchen.

They gathered at the table over stir-fry and salad, Abigail half-focused on her laptop, Ben half-focused on his notes, and Riley fully focused on dinner. Every now and then, a scrap of a conversation drifted around. The bird call of dedicated academics.

"Any news from Harvard?"

"Not yet, but they showed interest in the collections."

"The lady from the Hopi Tribe Board of Education called again about the pottery. I told her you've got the plane tickets and everything for September."

"Great, thanks."

Ben paused, picking at the salad and glancing up. "You said you had a new intern on your team to investigate the Wright House, right, Abby?"

Abigail nodded. "She's flying in tomorrow. I have to pick her up at the airport. She thanks you again, by the way, for the use of the room."

The Gates Estate, as they'd somewhat jokingly come to call it, had rooms to spare. He'd housed dozens of students who'd come and gone at the museum programs. New York rent costs could be murder, especially for students.

"No problem. It's the least we can do. That reminds me, I should probably get the model ship's cannon out of that room, huh?"

"Might be a good idea."

Riley looked up, talking through a mouth full of noodles. "Wait, is that the girl you were talking about last week? With the weird name? Athena or something, right? Artemis?"

"Ariadne. You almost had it there."

"Ariadne," he repeated, testing it out. "Crazy."

"She's coming from where? Paris?"

Abigail nodded, pausing to chew. "You remember that guy we had out here to look at the Mount Vernon models? Miles?"

"Stephen Miles, yes," confirmed Ben. "Nice guy."

"She's one of his. She's not French, though. She's from Toronto. And I expect you guys to be good hosts this time. The house is scary enough as it is. We don't need another late-night conspiracy theory argument like with Michael."

"I was just bouncing some theories off him." Ben shrugged.

"Don't bounce things off my students without asking first. You scared the living daylights out of the poor kid. No showing off the bones collection either. if they want to see bones, they can go to the Museum of Natural History. Not every student needs a personal tour of your dead parts collection, Ben."

"Hey, honey, that's history. It's important. Come on," Ben teased.

"If you want to hang out with her, I'm sure she'd love to see a more _traditional_ tourist's view of the city. Statue of Liberty and whatnot. I'm trusting you this time, Benjamin Gates."

"Can we drive her to D.C.?" Riley asked.

"If you have time. We just have this weekend, and then we'll need all the architects at the Wright house."

Riley pumped his fist in a silent gesture of victory.

"Oh," said Ben, "that reminds me. I won't be here on Saturday. Tell her I'm sorry I couldn't make it, but I got a call from a friend in D.C. One of their professors says he has more info on the Postwar Script."

Abigail paused, curious.

"This is new, Ben."

"I just found out this week. Sorry if I didn't say anything. It's been a little chaotic at the school. I just bought the bus ticket online this afternoon. I'll be back in time for dinner, I hope."

"Of course."

Ben kissed her head as he passed, collecting empty dishes. "You're the best."

"Just be careful, okay honey?"

"I'm always careful."

"But now especially. This Wright treasure thing is a big deal, and now people know you're working on it. You know how the press can be, and then there's people like Ian Howe."

"In prison!" called Ben from the kitchen. "He is very much in prison, and no longer our concern."

"But people can be greedy about treasure stuff. Just don't talk to strangers, okay?" Abigail joked, good-naturedly but firmly. It was a habit, her chiding, and his recklessness. It was how they'd always done it.

"It's not like I know where anything is. I don't even know if there _is_ a treasure."

But Ben had a hunch, and his instincts never lied to him. It was the beginning of something big.


End file.
